


Fire and Ice

by sunsetmog



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-28
Updated: 2004-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah didn't have a fucking clue how all this started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icarusinwax](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=icarusinwax).



> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/16510.html) in November 2004.

1.

Hannah didn't know when it had started. She didn't have a fucking clue. When they were kids? When they were running through the neighbours' gardens, pushing each other through the sprinklers and fighting and rolling? When grass stains had littered their clothing? When they were teenagers and they used to sneak downstairs after their Mom had gone to bed, putting the TV on quietly and curling up under a blanket, clinging to one another as their secret horror films unfolded? When he was away, pretending he was alright, that he wasn't homesick; pretending he was old enough to cope with all this shit? When he clung to her as the shadows lengthened and the nights grew colder? 

Hannah didn't have a fucking clue how all this started. 

She didn't know and she didn't fucking care. 

Just sometimes, when the lights were low and inhibitions lay broken and cracked across the dull floor, they lay together, her and Lij, and they touched in places where they shouldn't. They explored places where they just shouldn't have ventured. Lips found lips, and they found a kind of comfort from each other, the kind of comfort they should have sought elsewhere. They touched and grazed and pressed and felt. With tears in their eyes and their lives in fragments beneath their feet, they opened themselves up to each other, shedding layers and ripping through the ties that bound them, discarding them where they fell. And they lay with the pressure of the world upon them, and they kissed feverishly, with sweat on their brows and visions dancing before their eyes. They came, they slumped, they fell, and the world glittered and twisted on its axis. 

Hannah didn't know how the fuck this thing had started. Hannah didn't know, and she didn't fucking care.

2.

Elijah didn't know how the fuck he'd let this carry on so long. He didn't know how he could keep just letting it happen. He didn't know how he could live with himself, day after day, night after night. He didn't know how he could keep getting up in the morning, keep acting like nothing had happened, keep living and breathing and touching and tasting like there was nothing going on. He didn't know, and sometimes - only sometimes, when breaths misted and ghosted and slid between their twisted limbs, when sweat beaded and he couldn't help but burn his want onto her with his touch - sometimes, he didn't fucking care. 

Elijah knew exactly what it was; this _thing_ that clawed at his soul and ripped through his mind, possessing all that he called reason. He knew when touching had become _touching_. He knew when kisses had become _kisses_. He knew when his cock was hard against her thigh, and his breath staccato and wet against her mouth. He knew. He fucking _knew._

And it broke him, like shards of ice across a tiled floor. 

They cried as they came, him and Hannah. They cried each other's names through their tears. They cried with muffled sounds, with breaths that wept and sobbed and caught and hurt. They cried as his fingers edged up her thigh, as he kissed across her hipbone and buried his face against her chest. They cried as she took his cock in her mouth, with breaths hot and heavy and fucking _desperate_. They cried each other's names as he slid his fingers inside of her, as she begged for him to _be inside of her, fucking now_ , as their souls melded and merged and the light fractured all around them. 

Elijah knew exactly why the fuck he let this carry on. He _knew_ , and the knowledge was ripping him apart.

3.

Elijah _burned_. This thing was fucking tearing him up inside, ripping at his throat and pressing on the sensitive neurons behind his eyes. It crept up on him at night, this _want._ Those feelings, the ones he tried to crush and destroy and hide and _oh fuck_ act on, they were always there. Always there at the back of his mind, curling and slipping and sliding into his subconscious. Burning a pathway from sensation to desire to sensation and back again. 

Those feelings. 

He tried to forget what he'd done, he tried to forget how he'd acted, he tried to forget what he'd tasted and licked and touched and explored. He tried to forget the feel of hot, sensitive skin beneath his fingers, the tiny gasps as her eyes fixed on his, wide and open and for those few moments where the sky clouded over and the moon shone bright over their pale bodies, she was an extension of himself. Part of him. His soul, split in two, merged and joined and harmonised for a few terrible, aching, desperate moments as they cried their need for each other onto the night air.

It didn't happen every time, this meeting and melting and merging of their souls and bodies and minds. A lot of the time they didn't do anything but drink beer and smoke cigarettes and watch old TV reruns. They shouted the answers to _Jeopardy_ and fought over the remote control, the room hazy with cigarette smoke and the tired remnants of vodka in the bottom of glasses. She came out with him sometimes, discussing art and poetry with Viggo, vying with Billy for Dom's attention, raising those soft eyes to Orlando and watching him smile down at her as if noticing her again for the very first time. 

And all the time Elijah burned, somewhere deep inside. Fire scorched at his lungs, his chest, his throat. He fought for breath. He couldn't help but watch her, those few moments when the night and the day overlapped, when she slipped from his grasp and insinuated herself into his life, the life where he didn't need her to show him the way. His soul twisted and screamed inside of himself. And later, as the candles burnt low and the flames flickered and smoked and hissed, he pressed himself up against her, his eyes wide and his breaths desperate and hard. _This is wrong_ , he cried, and she cried along with him, the tracks of their tears melding as he traced a path (a map, a way, a route) down her body, _this is so so fucking wrong._

And as the sweat glistened on her skin and her she cast her head back, staring up at the moon, she called out words onto the night air, _Elijah_ , and _love_ , and _never, ever again_ and _now_. 

Fire burned inside of Elijah, and he hated himself. 

4.

They grew up far too soon, Hannah and Elijah. They shook their childhood off like an unwanted gift, struggling forwards into adulthood way before they ought to. They left their childhood somewhere, tired, forgotten, worn out. They left their childhood somewhere in the fold of their clothes, the tangle of their limbs, the heat of their mouths. They played hide and seek like their lives depended on it - creeping into shadowy, dusky corners with hands entwined and thighs pressing together in the darkness. _Midas_ , Hannah breathed, as they came to realise just what sort of games they were playing and their fingers twisted; as they realised nothing would ever be the same between them. _Icarus_ , Elijah cried, as the pulse of attraction and desire beat relentlessly against his skin. _Icarus_ , he breathed against her mouth, as fire consumed them both. 

They grew up too soon, and they both fucking knew it. 

Kissing Elijah hurt like hell. It hurt from the moment they came together, breath sneaking out in a _whoosh_ as they collided. Kisses were desperate, speaking of passion and desire and the knowledge that pulling away meant acknowledging _this_ , meant ripping themselves apart like willing lambs to the slaughter. They'd known _this_ right from the start, when kisses had been a way to pass the time in dark hiding places. When kisses had been a reassurance against the night, when kisses had missed and lips had met lips. When tongues had sneaked into the equation and the darkness exploded into fractured, dazzling light. They'd known this, they'd known what they were doing. They'd known this when hands had begun to sneak under thin, grass stained layers of cotton, when breaths had come hot and hard, when their tears lay drying against their warm cheeks and they kissed the tear tracks away, all the time creating new ones as their childhood struggled in the folds of the clothes at their feet. 

They didn't grow up fast enough, Hannah and Elijah. They didn't see what they were doing until it was too fucking late; until their lives, their bodies, their minds and souls were one, until they were twisted and melded together and nobody could fucking tear them apart, no matter how hard they tried.


End file.
